


I wanna come home (to you)

by aceofreaders (Kickasscookieeater)



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTGVotes, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, In a sense, M/M, Moving In Together, two boys making a home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 17:06:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17248106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kickasscookieeater/pseuds/aceofreaders
Summary: Andrew Minyard used to live in California.In South Carolina.In Boston.Always so lonely.Andrew Minyard lives in Denver. In Colorado. And he does not live alone.





	I wanna come home (to you)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year (almost)!
> 
> This is my second AFTG Votes fic, for the prompt;  
> 'any combo of these: moving into a new apartment, adopting a pet, birthday celebrations'
> 
> So, here's my combo!  
> I don't know what 2019 holds yet, but I know I want to try and be more consistent. Less sporadic, less here and then gone again and then here a whole lot. I think I'm excited for 2019. 
> 
> Happy New Year everyone!

When Andrew moved into his Boston apartment, in the South of the city, the only things that mattered at all were the amount of locks on the front door, how high the price was, and when Neil was coming. 

Neil didn’t come for a while. 

But it was expensive, and gray, and all the way up with plenty of locks.

The décor he can’t even bother to remember. Well, he does remember. But he doesn’t waste time thinking about it. It was more or less fine. Comfortable. Well heated. 

But. 

Boston. 

\---

Denver is different. Less bitter. 

Neil is sitting on the bare wooden floorboards, staring at the boxes spread out all around him. He doesn’t seem in too much of a hurry to unpack them. Andrew knows he’s tired. He had to get a plane in time to greet the movers with Andrew, talk to people that weren’t Andrew, be nice. When he got to the apartment building Andrew could see the tension in his shoulders even through the loose fit of his orange hoodie. 

Which he’s still wearing. 

He’s been sat there for a while now.

‘Neil. Haven’t we had this discussion before? Too many issues.’

Neil just laughs, more quiet than joyful, like a gasp or a breath being taken away.

The thing is, Neil used to live in the dorms with the Foxes, then alone with the new children. Then he lived alone alone. In some empty city. 

Andrew is well aware of how much of a not-home that city was for Neil. A memory like Andrew’s is not always a pleasant skill, and try as he might not to, he remembers every phone call with Neil. Every frustrated silence, every panic every problem every night he wasn’t there when Neil was hiding in a dark bathroom from his own reflection. 

This place. This city. These white walls. These hardwood floors. 

This is finally home. 

\---

The boxes are mostly unpacked. Only six of them left to go. 

Andrew is on the balcony. It’s been a month. The wind is gentle against his face and he is tired. 

The trouble with newness, is that even if it was your idea it’s still new. Denver is new. The streets, smells, sounds, faces are new. The breeze is new. The view is new. The colour of the sky at dusk is somehow new. 

‘Hey.’

That however, is less new. 

Andrew passes the cigarette over to Neil. Neil throws it off the side of the balcony onto the empty street.

‘Well. Fuck you.’

Neil laughs. Rests his arms over the balcony railing next to Andrew. They still haven’t gotten any outdoor furniture. He’s looking at Andrew. There’s a smile in the corner of his eyes. 

No. This isn’t new. Not exactly. It’s familiar. It’s known and understood and hooked into the core of Andrew and dragging him out into the light. 

‘Feel like unpacking one more box?’

Andrew sighs.

\- 

They pick a random box.

There is a photo in that box. In it, there are six mostly orange uniforms, two mostly white. There are four grinning faces, one smug pout, one blank stare, one triumphant chin held high, one reluctant smile, one surprised laugh. There is one captain ruffling one auburn head of hair. There is one backliner jumping onto the back of his taller counterpart. 

The photo sits on the new bookcase. 

There is a throw blanket in that box. It’s a hideous orange and it smells like German cologne. 

The throw blanket lies on the couch.

There is a hot chocolate recipe book in that box. It’s a glossy hardcover, and every page has been opened at least once.

The recipe book sits pridefully in the kitchen.

That box is a mess.

By the end of the night, there’s only 5 and a half boxes left and it’s all a little less new. 

\---

‘Meeeeeeow.’

Andrew stares. The cat stares back. It’s silent for a moment. And then: 

‘Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeow.’

Andrew closes his eyes for a moment. He just needs, a moment. When Andrew opens his eyes again, the cat is on its stomach with its’ paws stretched out centimetres from Andrews’ knees. And there, the cat waits. 

It’s a ginger cat. An adolescent ball of fluff and misbehaviour. They’re told he fights with the other cats sometimes. They’re told his one missing eye tends to put people off. They’re told he cries sometimes at night. They’re told he can be slow to trust humans. 

Neil seems quite taken with a white little kitten, a real chilly young man they’re told. He can be a little unaffectionate they’re told. He can be aloof they’re told. He was abandoned they’re told. 

Right now, he’s licking Neil’s pinkie finger. 

The ginger cat is still staring balefully at Andrew with his one remaining eye. Quite determined it would seem. Andrew reaches his hand out, carefully and slowly and half resigned to being bitten already. 

The cat just. Purrs. 

The man who runs the shelter is looking at them both, a slightly pained expression on his face.

‘So, were you just meaning to adopt the one?’

Andrew sighs. 

The cats get along famously. 

\---  
Andrew is staring at the black couch and sitting on the floor. Neil is standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at Andrew. So is Nicky.

‘That is the ugliest fucking couch I have ever seen.’

Sir as he is now called is cradled in Nickys’ arms, one white ball of fur and discontent. The two of them are tilting their heads at Andrew, like it’s his fault Neil brought his ugly couch to Denver.

Neil seems quite content.

It’s not as though Andrew himself is fond of the couch. He’s not fond of much. But. He does recall one phone call with Bee, after Neil got himself (rather forcefully) signed to Andrew’s new team. Something about Neil needing permanency, something about Neil and his many many troubles, something about it’s okay to worry about him Andrew, something about it’s okay to want him to be okay. 

Sir is now screeching his way out of Nicky’s arms, and Nicky is beside himself with heartbreak.

Andrew looks at Neil.

The sun is shining in through the window. It hits Neil like a spotlight. Andrew can see every line of missing tension in his body, can see his relaxed lean against the doorway, can see his laugh leaving his body, his eyes like clear blue skies.

‘We’re getting a new couch.’

\--- 

Andrew is half asleep when the front door opens. He can hear the locks, the open and close, the quiet tired sigh, the gentle hello and the small meow in response. He can feel King raise his head off of Andrews leg to investigate. 

It’s morning. Probably. 

Andrew goes back to sleep. 

This time it’s the bedroom door creaking that wakes him, the sound of four paws hitting the floor and charging out of the room. 

When he opens his eyes, he sees him.

Neil is holding a cup of coffee in his hands, scars on his arms on full display now that he’s home. He’s smiling just a little bit. 

‘How’s your head feeling?’

Andrew blinks at him. Neil smiles a little bit wider, comes to sit next to Andrew on the warm bedsheets.

‘Better?’

Andrew blinks at him. Nods. Neils’ smile meets the skin of Andrews forehead. A stray auburn curl, still damp from the shower, kisses Andrews hairline. So giving today.

‘How was your run?’

See, Andrew can be giving too. 

‘Lonely.’ 

Oh Neil. Always smirking at Andrew like Andrew can’t see the bright shine of feeling in his eyes, can’t feel the sincerity seeping from his skin and bleeding through Andrews cracks.

Some days, he’ll wake up with Neil and run. Chasing after that smirk, those cold blue eyes so full of fire, that sharp tongue. Some days he’ll give up halfway through and wait for Neil to come running back. He always does.

Today, Andrew does no such thing.

Today, Neil comes running back home alone. 

Today Neil comes back and kisses Andrew, crawls back into bed and lets his auburn mess of hair dry on the pillow next to Andrews own fevered mess. Today Neil looks at Andrew, strokes the hair back from his head, takes his temperature. Today Neil stays home.

\---

‘Happy birthday.’

Aarons voice is distant over the phone. A bad connection. Probably outside somewhere.

To Andrews right, is Neil. Asleep. A tiny granule of sugar on his lips.

Today has been quiet. Just Andrew and Neil; in the Maserati, in the cold snow, in the dessert place Neil knows Andrew doesn’t admit to liking. On the couch, reading. Sleeping apparently.

Aaron doesn’t say anything else. But then, neither does Andrew. And then Aaron hangs up. 

The apartment smells like homemade chocolate cake. The walls are covered in Neil’s photographs, a new polaroid of Andrew leaning against the car in the sharp November sun already tacked up above the side table by the door. The heating is on, the cats are both purring somewhere they shouldn’t be. 

His phone still shows Aarons contact information.

‘Happy birthday.’

\---

Neil doesn’t want to be here. 

Neil hates it here. 

Neil would rather be in their apartment. In their bed with its’ three pillows. Two for Andrew, one for Neil. Neil would rather be in the kitchen, glaring at the island where King always sits, giving in and kissing King between the ears. Neil would rather be on the balcony breathing in Andrews one-cigarette-a-week smoke. 

Neil isn’t really technically here.

He’s in there somewhere. 

Through those doors. 

Down that hallway.

Andrew is sure that Neil hates it.

If he’s awake.

Andrew doesn’t actually know if he is. 

He’s asked. Many times. No one has answered him. Not in a satisfactory way.

This whole situation is just. Stupid.

Andrew has never really wanted much of anything. 

He wonders what state the car is in. The shitty one that’s not a Maserati that belongs to Neil. Does it still belong to Neil? It might not really exist anymore. Andrew was told how bad of a shape the car is in. But he honestly wasn’t paying much attention at the time. He doesn’t have time to care about that shitty car.

Did he feed the cats today? Yes. He did. It was Neil who refilled their water. Scratched under their chins. Kissed Andrew. On his lips. On his cheek. On his forehead. Said goodbye to all three of them and left. 

His keys are in Andrews hands now. 

Andrew was sure. He was so sure. So certain that he didn’t want anything. 

But perhaps he does. 

Andrew wants to walk through those doors and down that hallway. 

Andrew wants to know what state the car is in.

Andrew wants to not be here anymore.

Andrew wants to take Neil home. 

\--- 

‘Kiss me?’

‘Yes.’

And Andrew does. He kisses Neil once, twice, three, four times. He kisses Neil and he feels Neil’s beating heart under his hand, Neil’s skin under his fingertips, Neil’s scars and new wounds like a map. Like a code. Like proof. 

‘I’m here’ Neil says. 

‘I’m here.’ 

Neil is surrounded by Andrew and the white of their living room walls and two cats.

‘I’m here.’ 

Neil is on the gray couch they got a couple months ago. It pulls out. 

‘I’m here.’ 

Neil is in Andrews sweats.

‘I’m here.’

Kissing him kissing him kissing him.

Neil is home.

\---

Andrew of course remembers in perfect the detail the day they found it.

It’s a Wednesday. 

Neil looks back at Andrew from where he’s standing with the real estate agent. She’s talking, still, has been for 25 minutes. Right now it’s about the glazing on the windows. It’s obvious Neil is paying no attention. He knows Andrew will tell him anything important later.

Andrew runs his hands over the marble counter-tops. Runs his eyes over the high ceiling. Examines the silver handles on the kitchen cabinets. It’s open plan, the living room and the kitchen separated only by a reasonably sized island.

The bedroom has a balcony. The midday sun shines softly in through the glass doors, and Andrew can see the dust in the air floating by and it looks like some kind of daydream. It’s obvious where the bed should go.

The whole apartment has hardwood floors.

It’s spacious. 

They can add more locks to the door if they wish. 

Pets are allowed.

There are two allocated parking spaces in the garage downstairs. 

Neil is looking at him.

Neil raises his eyebrows once at him in askance and Andrew knows. 

Andrew takes a deep breath, looks at the real estate agent and says:

‘We’ll take it.’


End file.
